Anti-immigration sentiments and a focus on borders, both literal and figurative, have become central to political discourse in the United States and across the world. Fierce debates over the construction of a border wall with Mexico, the growing political focus on securing borders against an influx of migrants, these issues dominate the national conversation. Democrats and Republicans alike have prioritized border security, with the Biden administration facing increasing pressure to manage the surge in migrant arrivals and address the inhumane conditions in detention centers, where thousands of individuals, including children, have been subjected to overcrowding, inadequate healthcare, and emotional trauma. Under Donald Trump, the rhetoric around immigration escalated, with a specific focus on Haitian migrants being demonized and marginalized, particularly in the aftermath of the 2021 crisis when thousands of Haitian refugees were detained in appalling conditions under a bridge in Del Rio, Texas.
This stark shift in rhetoric, from viewing the U.S. as a “nation of immigrants” to framing migrants as a threat, has only served to amplify xenophobic sentiments and deepen the divisions between the “us” and “them” in American society. The policy and discourse around borders and immigration have become so entangled with fear, insecurity, and political agendas that it is now difficult to discern whether the increased focus on walls and borders is a symptom of rising xenophobia, or whether xenophobia itself has been stoked in response to this political fixation.
Changing Rhetoric and the Nation’s Identity
The rhetoric around immigration in the United States has shifted dramatically in recent years. The U.S. is now turning its back on the very idea that made it a symbol of hope for so many around the world. Immigration, once seen as a strength, is now framed as a threat, a danger to the nation’s identity and security. The discourse today is no longer about bringing people together but rather about keeping the “unfamiliar” at bay. This shift has redefined the notion of community – who belongs, who doesn’t, and perhaps most importantly, who gets to decide.
It would be naive to think that this nativist and right wing populism is something new in the United States. America has often been hostile toward immigrants, particularly when those immigrants don’t fit a narrowly defined vision of who should belong.
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The United States has always had a strain of nativism, an inward-looking, culturally white populism that is as prevalent today as it was during earlier periods of exclusionary rhetoric. This is now reflected openly in the “America First” and “Make America Great Again” mantras that continue to stoke fear, anger, and violence.
Yet the sentiments that led to the election of the current administration are part of a much larger, more complex movement. The biggest change now is that there is no real opposition. Where once Democrats and those who considered themselves progressive left of center staunchly advocated that “No human is illegal,” (even if actions rarely supported this) now openly call for deportation, ICE funding and border security as well.
Fear and the “Other”
The fear of the “other” has long been central to fascist rhetoric. People are told that the world is a dangerous place, and that in order to protect ourselves, we must be vigilant against those who are “different.”
Why are people so quick to believe in this threat? The answer lies, in part, in our human desire for control. As individuals, we pride ourselves on our autonomy. We want to believe that we have the power to shape our destiny, to conquer challenges, and to rise above adversity. Control is key to our identity. But when the enemy is faceless, we feel the need to give it one. And so, the “other” is born – Muslims, immigrants, trans athletes, drag queens, “welfare queens” and so on.
There is little if any evidence to support these fears. Yet the fear-mongering continues to spread, perpetuated by those seeking political power. The truth is that immigrants, refugees, and marginalized communities are not the threat that many political leaders and pundits make them out to be. Yet the simplistic rhetoric of “us versus them” resonates with a large portion of the population struggling and eager to accept an answer as to why.
The Temptation of Walls
In the face of these fears, it is easy to be swayed by the rhetoric of leaders like Donald Trump, Geert Wilders, Nigel Farage, Marine Le Pen, etc. They promise protection from the outside world, advocating for physical and ideological borders that keep the “other” out. In the wake of the erosion of theoretical borders, these leaders argue, the need for physical borders becomes even more urgent. They appeal to the desire for safety and security by telling us that we need to retreat into the familiar – a specific heritage, tradition, or way of life – and shut out anything that is different.
But this raises a fundamental question: What exactly is at risk? In a country like the United States, a nation that has always been a mix of cultures, religions, and identities, it is difficult to pinpoint what is truly “ours” to protect. Is it our heritage, tradition, belief system? Or just the power that has long been held by a specific group – white, cisgendered, former-Europeans?
It’s no surprise that the people who are most vocal about protecting America from change are those who have traditionally held power. The fear of losing that power – the fear of being “usurped” – is a powerful motivator. For many, the prospect of demographic change feels like a threat to their identity, their privilege, and their sense of security.
The notion of treating any human as “illegal” due to their nationality or immigration status is both unjust and inhumane. Borders, as they are defined today, are artificial and constantly shifting – what was once one country becomes another, and migration patterns shift over time. No one is born with a fixed, unchangeable identity defined by where they were born. Culture is fluid, evolving over time through interactions with others. To treat people as “illegal” based on arbitrary boundaries not only dehumanizes them but ignores the inherent dignity of all individuals. Instead of dividing ourselves along national lines, we should recognize that we share a common humanity that transcends borders. Ultimately, our collective well-being depends on how we embrace and celebrate the richness that diversity brings, rather than using it as an excuse for division.
Diversity is an invaluable asset, offering countless benefits to societies, economies, and cultures. People of different backgrounds, languages, and experiences come together to bring new ideas, perspectives, and innovations. A diverse society is more adaptable, creative, and resilient in the face of challenges. Embracing diversity fosters a sense of interconnectedness and shared humanity.
Digital (Dis)connectedness
The digital age has revolutionized the way we communicate and interact with one another. On one hand, technology and the internet have made it possible to connect with people across the globe, fostering a sense of shared experiences and collective action. In an instant, we can access information from all corners of the world, follow the unfolding of international events, and even engage in real-time conversations with someone halfway across the globe. This interconnectedness has created a global community in which we can witness the suffering of others, feel empathy, and stand in solidarity with people we may never meet. Yet, for all the promise of bringing us closer together, the digital world has also helped to deepen ideological divides, perpetuating the very divisions it was supposed to bridge.
In theory, the internet’s ability to provide immediate access to news should make us more informed, more empathetic, and more globally aware. Social media platforms and online news outlets have made it possible for individuals to witness events in real-time, from natural disasters to political upheaval, allowing us to bear witness to the lives of those affected. The horrors of the Syrian civil war, the refugee crisis in Europe, and the Black Lives Matter protests across the U.S. have all been broadcasted in such a way that we can no longer claim ignorance. The digital age has put the suffering of others in front of us, forcing us to confront the realities of inequality, violence, and injustice across the world. But while these events feel closer than ever before, the emotional connection we experience is often fleeting and, at times, more superficial than we would like to admit.
One of the most significant ways in which digital connectivity has reshaped our emotional response to world events is through social media. Platforms like Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram allow us to show our support for victims of violence and tragedy by changing our profile pictures, sharing posts, or using hashtags like #PrayForParis or #BlackLivesMatter. These gestures, though well-intentioned, are often shallow, offering a sense of solidarity without fostering any meaningful engagement or long-term change. While these acts can create temporary moments of collective empathy, they also serve as a form of digital performativity—an attempt to feel connected without any substantive effort to understand or address the root causes of the issues at hand.
In the wake of mass shootings, natural disasters, or political unrest, many individuals rush to social media to express their thoughts and prayers, but these expressions rarely translate into lasting change or tangible action. This form of digital solidarity can ultimately contribute to a sense of emotional exhaustion, as we become desensitized to the constant barrage of tragedies and injustices we are exposed to online. We feel the weight of the world on our shoulders but struggle to reconcile that with our day-to-day lives. As a result, empathy can transform into apathy, and our collective sense of responsibility toward global issues diminishes.
While the internet has allowed us to witness suffering, too has it brought us face-to-face with the perpetrators of violence. News stories, videos, and images of human rights violations, terrorism, and brutality often carry a human face, whether it is the person committing the act or the individuals who are affected by it. The anonymity of the digital world can make these perpetrators seem faceless or distant, but social media amplifies their actions and exposes us to their motivations, ideologies, and beliefs. This has led to an unsettling consequence: as the distance between us and those labeled as “the other” shrinks, fear and suspicion begin to grow. The internet, in effect, has made us hyper-aware of the potential dangers that exist beyond our borders, fostering an “us versus them” mentality where “them” is often framed as a monolithic threat.
This is not to say that digital connectivity cannot be used as a force for good. In fact, social media has been instrumental in organizing protests, raising awareness, and mobilizing political movements. The Arab Spring, the #MeToo movement, and the ongoing push for climate action have all benefited from the power of digital platforms to spread messages, connect activists, and organize real-world action. However, the flip side of this connectivity is the way in which it can reinforce ideological echo chambers and intensify political polarization. Algorithms that prioritize sensationalist content and inflammatory rhetoric can lead to the creation of “filter bubbles,” where individuals are exposed primarily to information that confirms their existing beliefs. This creates an environment where misinformation thrives, and complex issues are simplified into binaries of right and wrong, us and them.
The rise of online extremism exemplifies the dark side of digital connectivity. While the internet has allowed marginalized groups to find solidarity and support, it has also provided a platform for hate groups to recruit and radicalize individuals. The anonymity of online spaces makes it easier for individuals to engage in dehumanizing discourse, spreading hate and fear toward those they perceive as a threat. This toxic environment is compounded by the fact that many people are increasingly isolated from face-to-face interactions, relying on digital connections for their social networks. As these ideological divisions deepen, the digital world becomes a space where fear and distrust can flourish unchecked.
In this context, the sense of “connection” fostered by digital spaces becomes paradoxical. While the internet allows us to feel more connected than ever, it also reinforces the very barriers that divide us. We may feel empathy for those suffering on the other side of the globe, but we struggle to see them as real people with real needs, reduced to mere images and headlines. We may understand the global implications of injustice, but we remain paralyzed in our ability to act. The digital age has created a world where we are more aware of global events than ever before, yet increasingly disconnected from the tangible, human experiences behind those events. We are confronted with a constant stream of suffering, yet we lack the tools to engage with it in a meaningful and transformative way.
Ultimately, the internet has both connected and divided us in ways we are still trying to understand. As we navigate this digital landscape, we must recognize that the empathy and solidarity we feel online must be translated into real-world action. Without this, the digital age will continue to perpetuate a cycle of superficial connection and deepening division. True connectivity requires more than just shared hashtags or profile pictures.